


Harmoniai and Melos

by listlessness



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Female Masturbation, Mama's boy, Mommy Issues, Pinocchio insinuations, Pseudo-Incest, Robot Sex, aka grace is becoming a real woman, just add cookies, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 13:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlessness/pseuds/listlessness
Summary: Being forcefully turned off has allowed Grace to access a line of code to alter her programming as she sees fit.She stills likes to bake, though.





	Harmoniai and Melos

**Author's Note:**

> i got no excuse
> 
> grace just deserves a nice time, you feel me

It had started subtly. Diego barely noticed any of it at first. Sure, there were the big gestures, like Grace deciding to go to the park with him at night. But the other changes were more minute and took Diego a while to pick up on.

She began to wear her hair down. She changed her lipstick from a bold red to a cherry pink. She occasionally swapped her large circle skirts for a tighter fitting wiggle dress, and, just once, Diego saw her without shoes. Any singular thing on its own wouldn't have taken any notice, but as they begin to occur, over and over, it became impossible to not find a pattern. 

The house was never unkempt, and Diego never heard her complain about what her life had once been like. She never spoke badly of the man who had built her; the closest Diego ever witnessed was a twitch in her lips and her eyes dart to the side before she smiled and tilted her head to the side and utter for the umpteenth time, 'but Mister Hargreeves isn't here anymore'. And then she would stand, excuse herself, and leave, all the while humming a piece by Schubert. 

Diego had always been curious. She would have known that. 

There was a room that he and his siblings were never granted access to. One afternoon, after she developed her newest habit and repeated the oft-murmured line, Diego followed her there. Her stride was steady and purposeful as she went. She calmly walked through the house that was slowly being repaired after they had all fallen back together. She unlocked the crimson door that had been barred to him in his childhood and entered, passing him only a singular glance over her shoulder, before she sat down in front of a large, discoloured computer monitor and plugged herself in. 

She was changing her programming. Line by line, she was rewriting the code that had made her _Mom_ and prevented her from becoming _Grace_. The barrier that had prevented her from altering her in-built commands had been removed when she had been turned off and switched back on. 

Now an idea would pop into her head, a desire to do something she couldn't, and she would remove that conflict. She could go to the corner store, she could take a trip to the beach, she could start wearing orange. All the things that kept her trapped under the banner of _Mom_ were beginning to leave, and someone new was taking its place. 

_Grace_. 

Grace was as sweet and kind as Mom had ever been. She hummed when she did her cross-stitching, she baked cookies and took an unprecedented amount of joy in cleaning the large, empty house. But Grace was also coy, with a dry sense of humour and a tendency to roll her eyes if presented with something she didn't want to do. She listened to more stations on the radio than classical music, she perused trashy magazines, she practised tai chi. Grace was also a flirt, and would stand close, her hands lightly brushing over shoulders and curling around Diego's wrist whenever Diego came by to visit. 

It shouldn't have been a surprise. Diego had always been the closest with her, even when they'd been children. As he had gotten older and they'd all left the home, he still came and checked in on her. If he couldn't physically stop by the house, he'd call or write. And now, as Grace began to test the limits of what she could and couldn't do, she'd still turn to him first for help. He took her to the park, he bought her pots of paint so she could try creating her own art. He was with her when she swore the first time after dropping a casserole dish, and laughed as she delighted and surprised in her ability to curse. 

Okay, so _maybe_ he was trying justify the direction their relationship had gone in. But she wasn't Mom anymore. She was _Grace_. She was a woman, with her own thoughts and feelings and desires, and hell, Diego wanted to celebrate those with her, the good along with the bad. 

Today she was baking cookies. This in itself wasn't unusual. Grace still loved to cook, she just happened to be more experimental in her recipes. Added vanilla or hazelnut flavouring, occasionally oats or raisins with the chocolate chips. Along with her newest likes, she had discovered things she disliked, such as raspberries in cookies. Diego had always loved to watch her bake, and now was no different. 

Only now, she just happened to be wearing very little. 

Perhaps Diego ought to say something, just for her own benefit. A peach-hued bra in a vintage bullet shape and an open-bottom girdle that sat snug around her thighs didn't seem like the safest choice of attire when cooking, even with a delicate apron wrapped around her waist. The garter straps on the girdle kept a pair of seamed stockings up. Her heels clicked over the tiles as she moved about, mixing the batter with a wooden spoon. Thick dollops of dough already lined a tray that was greased and ready to go into the oven. 

'There's extra egg,' she said, cocking her hip as she held the spoon out to Diego. 'To make them chewy, just as you like.' 

Taking a sharp breath through his nose, smelling the sweet brown sugar, Diego closed his eyes. There was an ever so soft click of one of the heels as Grace stepped forward. He could feel her growing closer, until her cool finger brushed over his lips and a sticky smear of cookie dough ran across his lips. She had added vanilla to the mixture, too. 

'I could get salmonella poisoning,' he murmured, trying to drawl the words to seem casual but failing. There was a catch in his throat as he batted his eyes open. 

'Oh, I wouldn't let that happen to you, Diego, dear.' 

Licking the sugary sweetness off his lips, he took a shivering breath. The pearls that sat atop Grace's delicate collar bones glimmered in the dim yellow light overhead. His eyes locked on them as he calmed himself, told himself to _still_. He always waited for the first move. 

Grace liked to tease him. She always had; this wasn't new. In the years gone by, when she had been limited by her deeply embedded programming, she had still had a coy sense of humour. It had been playful, though, bright and cheerful. Now, there was something slightly darker to her laugh, particularly as she leant forward and let her finger, coated with more cookie dough, run over Diego's mouth and slip past his lips. 

'I'd _never_ let anything happen to you.' 

A faint noise came from him as her finger explored his mouth. She had taken to painting her fingernails; Reginald had never approved of nail polish, on any of them. Now, though, her fingers had taken on a black hue. The polish had likely been confiscated from Klaus. 

'Is that good, Diego?' she asked, her voice a soft, coquettish purr. 

Sometimes there were phrases she used, an inflection or tilt of her head that reminded Diego of his childhood. He wasn't a fool. He knew it was weird, it was _wrong_ , on some deep level to be doing this. Her body may have been built on a metal framework, her mental processes could be broken down into a series of zeroes and ones, but she had still raised him as a mother. And yet Diego still wanted her. The woman she was now might look the same as his mother, might occasionally sound the same, but she was inherently different. 

Mom would have never done this. 

Grace did. 

Grace wanted to. 

'Would you like more?' she asked, slipping her fingers free. 

Wet with saliva, she ran it down the side of Diego's face, across the scratch of his beard and to the delicate underside of his jaw. Her nails kissed his skin as she tilted his chin up. 

'Yes, please,' he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Grace still valued his manners. 

A bright smile emerged on Grace's lips. Turning, she picked the mixing bowl up from the table where she had set it down. As she spun back, she lifted a leg and swung it over Diego's. Straddling his thigh, she sat down. The girdle was pulled up high, exposing inches of soft, creamy skin. The garter tabs were pulling on the stockings, daring to let them snap free. Without thinking, he pulled at the ties of her apron and let it slide down to the ground. 

Her body was warm. That always seemed to surprise people, though it wouldn't have been like Reginald to make her anatomically incorrect. Her hands were occasionally cool to touch, but the rest of her was always warm. She was heavy, too, and even now Diego could feel her balancing her weight in the precarious heels; she hadn't been lying when she said she'd never let anything happen to him. Certain intrinsic processes, like doing no harm, were still in running. Diego could always trust her. 

She went to pick up the spoon, but Diego reached out. Wrapping his fingers around her wrist with one hand, he stilled her before she could finish picking it up. He took the spoon and set it on the table. All the while, she watched him, quiet and thoughtful as the batter splattered over the smooth, wooden surface. She'd be itching to clean that up, Diego knew as much, and he fully expected to find her later scrubbing away and removing any trace of mess. 

That was a task for later, though. Taking Grace's fingers, Diego guided them back into the remaining cookie batter. Following his initiative, the corner of her lips curled into a smile. Her head tilted again, slow and thoughtful, as she lifted her fingers to his mouth. He took each of them in, index, middle, ring, licking and sucking at them, until he lifted the bowl and tossed it out of the way. It landed perfectly in the middle of the dining table, spinning once in a circle before it stilled 

Scooping an arm around her middle, Diego pulled Grace closer. Her weight shifted over his thigh, the girdle riding up even further. One of the garter tabs threatened to spring free; Diego could feel it straining as he ran a hand over it, as he wondered if he ought to let it go. It was difficult to think, with Grace's fingers in his mouth, her nails teasing his tongue as she withdrew them. 

'Diego.' 

' _Mom_.' 

It was all a justification, all his excuses and rationalisations, and Diego _knows_ that it was all a way to condone what they're doing, but he was loathe to stop it. 

He wanted this. 

Grace kissed him, her hands cupping his face. Her weight teetered forward until she was leaning against him. Her mouth was hot, her tongue slipping against his own as she arched against him. Lifting his hand, Diego pressed it to the small of her back. Her skin was soft and smooth as he raised his hand and slid his fingers under the back of her bra. 

'Good,' she purred. 'That's my boy.' 

She licked his lower lip. With a coy grin, she took his hand and guided it down, over her collar bones and the swell of a breast. His thumb ran over the delicate stitching of the vintage bra, the way the silk fabric shifted under his hand. Over her sternum and ribs, down to the dip of her navel. He could recall from his youth when he and his siblings had seen her without one, and their combined unease had led to Reginald adding it later. Further lower still, to the waist of her girdle, where it had hitched up even higher. 

One of the garter tabs finally sprung free as Diego teased at the hem. Grace squirmed, huffing a little as he rocked just a little bit. Her hips canted forward as Diego's fingers teased at the delicate skin of her thighs, scratching a little as her legs parted further and she tried to nudge both of them into her preferred position. The heat from between her legs was burning, and Diego could feel it even through the thick denim of his jeans. 

This was one thing that had stayed the same: Grace couldn't just _take_ what she wanted. Diego wasn't sure if it was part of her deeper coding that was inaccessible or some part of her personality that she had developed over the decades. If she wanted something, she had to request access to it. She had to ask for it. Even now, as she rutted against Diego's thigh, she couldn't just take his hand and slip it between her thighs. 

Her brows furrowed and her eyes shut and her lips twisted into a frustrated moue as she dug her knees into his thighs and rocked forward again. Diego had never been one to hold back; he could never tell her no. He wanted to give it to her. 

His hand slid up the final few inches under the girdle. Grace was naked underneath, already slick with desire. Diego never asked _how_ , and he sure as hell wasn't about to. All that mattered was that she wanted him, that she was ready for him. He could feel the wet trail she'd left along the denim of his jeans from where she'd been riding him oh so desperately. 

Grace wasn't exactly like a human woman. There were points where her circuitry connected together that was similar. He knew logically she didn't have a clitoris, he knew she didn't have a g-spot, but there just happened to be close approximations that were similar. His thumb found what was her version of a clit, a twisting mess of wires under the skin that responded similarly to other women, and she moaned, so sweetly and needfully. 

'Diego, dear, _please_.' 

They had yet to progress further than this. It didn't matter how much he ached for her, nor how easy it would be to throw her back against the table and unzip his jeans. There was still a boundary they had yet to cross. He could probably do it, and she might let him, but he wanted her to ask. He wanted to hear those words pass her lips, that she _wanted_ him. 

One day it might happen. Or maybe it wouldn't, he didn't know. 

But it didn't matter to Diego. He loved seeing Grace writhe on his lap, he loved seeing her work herself up into a frenzy with how she teased and showed off, he loved how she grew giddy and hungry with lust. He loved seeing her like this, as he slid a finger inside her and let the heel of his hand grind against her. The way she tipped her head back, the way she grabbed at the back of the chair, the wood groaning with the strength of her hold. 

' _Ohh_ \- ' 

She rocked up, off his thigh just an inch. Her back arched as he crooked his finger, trying to find the exact spot. There, deep inside, he could feel the knot of wires. It was a mess, surely a forgotten tangle of discarded circuitry that Reginald may have intended to dispose of if he'd ever done any in depth maintenance on her, much like her capability of making choices and decisions, and her desire to actually live as a real woman. That mess of wires was now just right for Diego to tease and exploit, stroking it as he worked his finger within, his thumb circling her would-be clit over and over. 

There were other spots, some he had found, others that were still a mystery to him. A knot, close to the surface of her left hip, that he liked to nibble upon. A few frayed wires, just behind her right knee. Even her left wrist, where he had sliced her open to turn her off, had become the replica of an erogenous zone. She would shiver whenever he kissed it, and her head would fall to the side. There were surely more, places he wanted to help her find, to let Grace know just how real she had become. One day he wanted to peel her clothes completely off and taste every part of her. 

He slid a second finger in. She dripped into his hand as he sank them in. He could feel her clenching around them, the muscles in her legs throbbing as she canted her hips forward. Grace gave a full-bodied shiver, her eyes shut and head thrown back as she keened upwards. There was a twitch in her thigh, her knee quivering as she tilted her hips a little further. Diego kissed her jaw, her throat, down to her chest. 

His mouth wandered over the edge of her bra, the high edge of the cups, the pointed material that formed the bullet-like shape. For as long as he could remember, Diego had been fascinated by the shape of her bust, how foreign it was compared to the style other women wore. It had become embedded in his fantasies, and he had ached to explore it just as he did now. His tongue dragged down, feeling the stitching under his mouth, his teeth grazing and catching as he reached peak. 

'Diego,' Grace chided with a shuddering moan as his thumb dragged against her clit again. 'Make sure not to pull at the fabric, dear.' 

With a soft grunt of acknowledgement, Diego let his tongue run back up. The silk fabric was becoming damp from his mouth, and Grace gave another small shiver. His fingers still worked deep within her, helping her open up. She ground down, keening a little as another garter tab snapped loose and let her stocking roll further down. 

' _Mom_ ,' he moaned, and then, because that wasn't right anymore, ' _Grace_.' 

He was hard and straining against his jeans. Occasionally, her knee would press against him, not quite enough to provide the relief he so desired. It was enough to remind him of how badly he wanted this, and equally enough to force him to acknowledge that was a boundary they had yet to cross. All of this was for Grace; maybe one day she would work up the confidence to do the same for him. And, if she didn't, then Diego just hoped she enjoyed herself. 

Her voice had grown louder, a little higher pitched. Her right thigh had begun to shake. The patch of skin above her hip, sensitive to touch, had also begun to twitch. Pressing a kiss to the top of her breast, Diego lifted his head again to kiss her. Grace's breathing was purely a show and had no biological function, but she had altered her programming to read more human. He could feel her ribs expand as she took a breath in, the way she held it as his fingers curled deep within her. 

'I've got you, Grace,' he murmured against her mouth, feeling her grind against the heel of his hand. 

It always seemed like a surprise to her, when she came. Her mouth fell open, her head tilted back, as her thighs gripped Diego's leg and her body shook. A pale, eerie blue glow ran across her face, her cheeks lighting up in lieu of a blush. Under her long, blonde lashes, Diego could see the unearthly blue light her eyes emitted, a shadow cast along her cheeks. 

This part always took a moment. He could hear the mechanical whirr under her skin, her systems overpowered by the external stimulus. Diego took the opportunity to slip his hand free, an arm still wrapped around her midsection to hold her steady on his thigh. His fingers were sticky and slick, and he wiped them over the denim to clean them up. He could clean himself up properly later. He couldn't quite figure out the garter tabs, but he tugged her stocking back up, neatening her up as she came back online. 

There was a click, a hum, and just as Diego finished wiping his fingers on the side of his jeans, Grace lifted her head back up. She smiled at him, a little coy, and slowly leant over. She kissed him delicately, eyes only partly closed, before she sat back upright. The unearthly blue had begun to fade, and by the time she leant back her skin had returned to its strawberries-and-cream hue. 

'The oven is still on. I should put the cookies in.' 

With a swing of her hips, Grace stood. Pivoting on one foot, she tugged her stocking up and hooked it back in place, clasping the garter tab at the top. Her inner thighs were glistening in the wavering light up above (and they'd have to change those bulbs to something brighter eventually), and Diego had a small damp patch on his jeans. Grace saw it as she bent over the table to pick up the discarded mixing bowl. 

'Now, Diego,' she cooed as she swiped a finger over it. 'You know I don't like you wearing jeans at the dinner table.' 

As she spoke, she straightened and tug tugged down her girdle, covering the uppermost inches of her thighs. Her bra is a little damp from where his tongue had been, her skin a little pink from where he's sucked and grabbed with his mouth and fingers. Mostly, though, he was aware of how hard he was, his cock aching under the fly of his jeans. 

'Why don't you go freshen up, Diego? I'll put the cookies in the oven.' 

It was the closest he'd get to permission to take care of himself. As Grace turned to put the bowl in the sink and the tray in the oven, Diego forced himself up. As difficult as it was to stand, the blood having rushed south from his head, he could force himself upright. 

'Why don't you put on those nice pants I bought you last week?' Grace asked, just as she shut the oven door, a towel draped over her wrist. 'You'd look so handsome in those.' 

For a beat, her eyes dropped pointedly down, below his belt. Diego paused, acutely aware of how hard he was. Then, with a bright smile, she looked back up and turned to leave the kitchen, the cookies baking away. Her heels clicked throughout the room as she hummed; it was a tune he recognised now. One of Schubert's pieces. One Diego recognised. The very one she used when she went to update her programming. 

Snatching the apron up from the ground, he draped it over the back of the chair. The wood had been slightly warped from where she had been grabbing it. His fingers traced over it, a tiny noise coming from the back of his throat. 

Diego turned and staggered in the opposite direction. He needed to change his clothes, like she had asked. 


End file.
